Keep Your Finger Off the Trigger
by HunnybadgerV
Summary: Garrus returns to the Normandy to find his rifle missing. When he discovers who has it, his mind wanders into territory he's tried to keep himself out of. As he and Vex have not made such blatant declarations to one another, he tries not to see significance in her actions. Written as a Holiday Harbinger gift for wamblytugboat.


**Summary:** Garrus returns to the _Normandy_ to find his rifle missing. When he discovers who has it, his mind wanders into territory he's tried to keep himself out of. As he and Vex have not made such blatant declarations to one another, he tries not to see significance in her actions.

**a/n: **Written as a Holiday Harbinger gift for wamblytugboat with the hopes that this might brighten up her holidays with a little Shakarian fluff.

**Keep Your Finger Off The Trigger**

The soft mellow music felt out of place on this vessel. On the _Normandy _Garrus hear everything from popular Asari music, Quarian string quartets, Salarian techno, and the human stuff had run the gambit. But the song being piped into the elevator when he stepped in sounded oddly familiar though he could not place it. Nor did he know when it became a thing or why.

"EDI?" Garrus asked when he door closed.

"Yes, Officer Vakarian."

"When did you start this?"

"One of the crew mentioned that it might make the rides less awkward," she replied in a tone as matter of fact as it always ways.

"And what is it?"

"Jeff suggested it. It is Hanar folk music."

"Of course," Garrus sighed. That answer made total sense all the way around. _Because how best to follow of a Hanar diplomats attempt at intergalactic cyber terrorism than by playing some traditional jellyfish celebration music. _Sometime Joker still managed to surprise Garrus with the lengths he would go.

"If you are looking for the commander, I believe she is in the Loft."

"Thank you," he said as he hit the button for the cargo bay. Garrus figured he could exercise at least a show of self control, plus typically she only tucked away in the loft if she needed her space or some quiet to concentrate. There was a third reason, he recalled absently, but that seemed unlikely as he only just returned to the ship.

Once he reached the bay the turian traded a silent nod with Cortez and offered a more visible gesture, a quick wave, to Lt. Vega when the human yelled, "Scars!"

The tromping across the deck told the alien that would not be the end of the conversation today. "Any word on Palaven?" the human asked with more candor as he stopped at Vakarian's shoulder.

Garrus shook his head. "Nothing worth sharing," he replied, trying to keep his tone even. It worked for the moment. In the next instant thoughts of home were pushed away from the surface of his mind as he stared into an empty gun locker. "I thought I told you not to mess with my rifle, Vega."

"Don't look at me. I didn't touch it."

At that admission, a tightness settled between the sniper's shoulders. He opened the handful of lockers there, but none of them contained the rather battered blue and white case. After the beginnings of a cursory search, Cortez noticed Vega's more rambunctious display as he helped.

"What are you two looking for," Steve called.

"My rifle," Garrus all but growled, his ire climbed fast over things like this. He made it clear that he preferred to maintain his own equipment. He thought everyone was on that page with him. _How dare someone put hands on my equipment, especially my rifle? What the hell were they thinking? That is a precisely calibrated and maintained weapon, and someone just goes into another soldiers locker and …_

"CO has it."

"What?" he snapped. The rant in his mind hit a wall at full force.

Cortez nodded, though his attention remained on his console and whatever he had been working on when Vakarian came down. "Yep. Grabbed her guns and yours along with her kit."

Garrus felt the muscles in his jaw flex. This was new. Never before had Shepard even mentioned something like this to him. Of course, had she, the turian would have declined for … reasons. After an inappropriately long silence while he started to weigh the situation in his head, he finally said, "Odd."

"Not really."

"How do you mean?" The turian moved to the opposite side of the console from Cortez.

"She does it all the time."

The conversation merely served to confuse him more. "She takes my rifle before missions. No, usually just her own. Guess she just figured she'd do you a solid after you yanked her out of the fire that last go around."

"Sure." Garrus' tone would have belied his bewilderment if they had served together more than a few weeks. "Thanks," he told the officer quickly and strode back toward the elevator. All through the wait for the lift car and the ride up to the loft, his mind raced. He determined that Cortez had to be correct Shepard must have just been trying to do him a favor. She surely could not know what he was trying very hard not to think. She would not understand why he was so adamant about this or so surprised to hear she had done it.

When he entered her quarters, there was no sound except the telltale click of a barrel being replaced. It echoed off the flat surfaces and the interior of Vakarian's skull. Shepard then started in on his rifle, stripping it quickly. When his foot scraped a stair her eyes rose to his long enough to give him a wink and a half smile. His mind raced with all the reasons he should not let her do this. She did not understand what it meant to him. But selfishly he wanted her be cleaning this weapon for all the reasons beyond just routine maintenance.

His heart pounded against his ribs cage, it was worse than his first day of physical training after he joined up-the day he learned he was not as prepared as he thought. He felt like that again. Of course that was not uncommon with Venatrix Shepard. Only on the rarest of occasions was he prepared for her, which she proved over and over again, though her turian lover began evening up that score recently. Garrus leaned against the case at the top of the steps and watched her.

"What are you doing?" He tried to make the question wound completely innocuous, though inside he was a jumble.

"Riding a bicycle," Venatrix replied in a light tone. Her eyes rose to meet his as she swiped the parts with a soft cloth. "What's it look like, Vakarian?"

"I'll give you that one, Vex. Why?"

"Maybe I'm just trying to be nice."

Garrus swallowed thickly then shifted, moving to sit on the sofa near her. He leaned back for a time, just watching her with a mix of emotions and waves of tension battling for dominance. He tried not to read too much into the deliberate and precise care she exercised when handling, cleaning, and preparing the bits and bobs of his rifle. Humans did not put meaning in these sorts of things-Vega, Cortez, and Williams all maintained weapons on the ship. So did he. But for him, there was a little more to it. Held within the endless calibrations lurked more than just a turian's personal desire for precision. A layer of worry, concern, and consideration for the crew and specifically for Commander Venatrix Shepard prompted his machinations.

Humans did not place the same significance in such actions, or so Ashley informed him the first time they served together. So as his mind flooded with questions and sentiment, Garrus knew he could not be certain that Shepard was doing anything more than just putting the pieces back together. He did not know if as she did so she offered up a thought to the Spirits, a request to keep the bearer safe from harm. A prayer, if one wished to call it such, that the soldier that would carry that rifle return safe to her arms. Screwing his eyes shut he gave his head a little shake.

For many warrior culture weapons took on an almost sacred aspect. The care and maintenance of them held deep meaning. In the Hierarchy, for one to take it upon oneself to attend to another's arms or armor it bore sign of healthy consideration and held deep meaning in turian culture. It was not the mere task of a quartermaster or a weapons specialist, so to see her hands on his weapon was beyond intimate. His mind fogged and he struggled to keep his thoughts from running away with him. But it was difficult.

"Shepard, I … I think you misunderstand," Garrus finally said as the reconstruction began.

Something about the way she looked at him in that moment stole his power of speech. "I think you underestimate me, Vakarian," she replied.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. The male searched for what he wanted to say, but he could not seem to find the words.

Venatrix finished reassembling his rifle and laid it on the table, her hand moved over his arm before she clasped his hand. "After all this time, you really think the only thing I would have looked into about turians was how their sexual biology worked?" she asked softly. Her lips pressed to his forehead.

"You knew what you were doing?" he stammered.

"For the love of all that's holy." Shepard moved, trapping him there in her immediate proximity. His hands rested lightly on her hips when she straddled his thighs and closed the distance between them. Shepard held his face softly, leaning closer. The tender look in her eyes drew him in. "Garrus Vakarian, do you really not see it?" Her fingers were light and soft on the thinner skin of his neck. "Have I been that aloof?"

Her voice held the gentleness he only heard when the two of them were alone. The turian pressed his hands carefully up her back, cradling her to him. "I merely wouldn't presume."

The commander sat back a little, her tone taking on a more matter-of-fact approach. "Because I'm human?"

"Vex," he countered, curling a digit under her chin to keep her eyes level with his. He had not expected this, had not expected that she knew, had not expected that she cared that much. "It is a show of extreme intimacy," he tried to explain.

"Meant to demonstrate that one cares for and treasures the other, that the other means as much to the one as themselves. That the one wants to do everything they can to make sure the other returns to them. In that way it is not a purely selfless gesture. As it is not just for the care and consideration of the other, but also to stave off the grief of the one should they lose the other," Shepard injected.

"This kind of thing is usually reserved for … "

"Bond mates. I know." Her chin lowered just a hair as her eyes met his. "I hoped you wouldn't mind that bit of presumption."

"I don't," Garrus started. "I mean I should for your sake alone. Some would call it brazen or wanton."

A smirk played across her lips as she leaned closer. "Haven't you heard the rumors, Vakarian? I am both of those things."

"I would disagree." His resolute tone earned him a warm smile.

"I could whisper how much I love you. Or I could invest the time to show you, the way you should be shown. I'm not turian, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. And I wanted to do it in a way that was familiar to you, so that you would know that I appreciate all of you. Not just the part that nips at my pillows in his sleep."

Their laughter filled her quarters with warmth. And Vakarian pulled her closer. "How did you even find the time?"

She chuckled at him. "I found myself with some time to kill before this whole Reaper invasion thing got into full swing. And Mordin's file on human-turian relations had more than safety tips and porn."

Garrus' arms slipped around her pulling her closer. "May I?" he asked, as he embraced her.

"Of course. Later." Her touch caressed his face, her thumb finally brushing over his forehead firmly as she said, "I choose you, Vakarian."

He took her face in his hands and pulled her forehead against his own. "And I will always choose you, Venatrix Shepard. Over and over," he declared in a voice thick with relief and tinged with a growl. His eyes could not leave hers as he watched the corners crinkle with her smile. The darkening of her flushing cheeks made him tip his head and press his mouth to hers. "I love you."

The human sentiment he added simply to let her know quite how deep the sentiment of those three words she had told him ran, though he harbored the notion now that she might just know.


End file.
